The Slant of Light
by WithLoveOresteia
Summary: Blind Noah Mayer and his thoughts. One-shot. Rated PG.


A/N: After Kish went off the air, I went back to ATWT and decided to start watching the old clips (I had stopped watching shortly after the Ameera disaster). When Noah became blind, every time he opened his mouth I was more and more aggravated. I wanted to kill him for treating Luke so poorly. So then, late at night, I decided to delve in Noah's mind, fanfiction-wise, and find out why. This was the result, and it makes my hatred of Noah (at that time) lessen significantly. Just to clarify, I like Nuke and I like Lure, both for different reasons. So if you DO comment on either, let's be respectful, 'kay?

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Noah hated being blind.

As a child, he had always feared that moment at bedtime when the lights flicked off. When his bedroom, his entire world at that age, was invisible no matter how hard he tried to see. When the creaks and groans throughout the house decided to make themselves known. In those minutes, when his racing heart beat tangled with those sounds, his breathing would become shallow, and the terror would overwhelm him. The terror of the dark, the terror his father would hear he was afraid. He'd squeeze his eyes tight and open them as wide as he could, clutching his bed sheets, desperate for any kind of light.

And then he'd see something. The outline of the window, his tin can of toy soldiers on the wardrobe, a slant of light under the door. And he'd feel safe.

Being blind, he never felt safe. It was that few minutes of terror multiplied a million times. His world was larger now, even more frightening, and he longed to see that light under the door.

He knew it would never come.

So he relied on his other senses. He needed to work with what he had. It started slowly, so slowly he thought it would never happen. Whenever Luke came by, he'd lean in close, catching his scent. Analyzing it. Remembering it. He listened to every footstep that approached, listening for squeaks from the shoes, a rustle of clothing. He listened to the way they breathed, remembering who cleared their throat before speaking and who clicked their tongue after sentences. He leaned quickly that people swallowed before they told him bad news.

Slowly, he leaned.

He learned the sound of Luke's breathing, the way he walked into the room with a hesitant step. He could smell Luke, tangy and wonderful, from across the room. He learned Luke always smiled at that first "hey".

But he couldn't see the smile. And that killed him.

He couldn't make Luke understand. Hearing that smile, but not being able to see it. Not knowing where exactly it was, only that it was close by. Smelling Luke, but not being able to touch him. Not being able to see what crazy hairstyle Luke had decided on that week. Not being able to see Luke's hand gestures that he knew accompanied every speech. He'd imagine them in his mind's eye, and somehow that hurt even more.

It made him lay awake at night, juvenilely shutting his eyes tight and opening them wide, hoping the light would come back.

What made it worse what not seeing himself.

He didn't know if his hair was a mess, if he had food between his teeth, if his clothing matched. It was humiliating that people chose his clothing, when he knew by touch it wasn't his usual style. It was worse that Luke could see him and know he looked bad, but not say anything, and Noah would never even know. When he felt Luke's hands on his shirt, trying to fix the buttons like he did for his little sister, he'd shove him away. Luke would be so hurt and Noah would feel so guilty. But Luke couldn't understand what it's like to have your boyfriend see you when you can't see him.

It became worse late at night, when Luke would sneak in to his bedroom and lay with him. When Luke would stroke his hair, whispering "I love you. Nothing's changed".

Everything had changed. He couldn't see. He was defective. He was different. Luke couldn't possibly love that.

Luke was lying.

So he pushed Luke away, again and again.

He yelled, he screamed, he blamed Luke for his blindness. When he heard Luke cry, he forced his guilt into anger. Yet Luke stubbornly stuck by, and Noah didn't know whether to yell some more or kiss him. Then he'd realize that he wouldn't be able to find Luke's mouth, even if he wanted to. So he'd yell some more.

He didn't expect Luke to leave.

Somewhere deep down, he thought Luke trusted him more than that. That Luke knew Noah was lying through his teeth. That Noah needed him to hold his hand when they poked and prodded him at the hospital. Luke had to know the accident wasn't his fault. That Noah loved him, no matter what.

That week, he had convinced himself Luke was just angry. He'd hum and haw, like he usually did, and stubbornly show up at Noah's side for the next doctor's appointment.

He never showed. Noah learned a new kind of pain.

When Luke finally appeared, his voice was different. Light and airy. He didn't touch Noah, he didn't even try. He longed for Luke to brush his thumb against Noah's, to lean in so close he could feel Luke's breath on his face. But he didn't. Noah would purposely brushed up against him, begging for some contact, and Luke would move away. His voice wasn't intimate like it used to be. He never brought up their relationship. He stopped telling Noah he loved him.

He had moved on.

Noah realized his idiocy. Being blind wasn't the end of the world. The pain was tolerable.

Losing Luke was agonizing.

He lay on his bed at night, grasping for a solution, listening to the creaks in the house. This time they comforted him. Each creak told him that he hadn't lost his precious hearing. And that's when it came to him:

There had to be doctors who could fix it. Neurosurgeons who specialized in blindness had to exist. He could get his sight back. Once it was back, he could _see_ the problem. He could _see _whether Luke had actually moved on or not. Luke could fake sounding happy, but he could never hide his expressions. Noah could read Luke like an open book.

Then he could get him back.

Everything would be back to normal. He was sure of it.


End file.
